Perception
by Ultimate Kaiosama
Summary: Things in life are always a matter of perception. The subtle nuance of the truth is often masked behind subjective reasoning our brain uses to process events we emotionally cannot. What is real and what is falsehood? "Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?"


**Perception**

 **UltimateKaiosama**

 **5/29/17**

Harry James Potter, "The Chosen One" and "The Boy-Who-Lived" among a number of fanciful titles the Ministry had heaped upon him all those years ago. Why it only seemed like yesterday he was celebrating his 100th birthday, he mused to himself. That had been 30 years ago, however, and he could feel the cold creeping up his bones. His time was coming. History repeating itself, it seemed, as he was indeed ready to greet Death as an old friend. Reaching a shaky hand over to his dresser, he opened the drawer and retrieved an old, rusty galleon coin. Smiling faintly at the fondest of memories, he reached in for his wand as well. Rusty was an understatement, however, with metal currency being officially phased out of production in 2060 with the signing of the Gringotts-Granger Accords, a testament to the legacy left behind by his best friend, Hermione Granger. Said Accords granted all goblins of Gringotts clan the legal right to purchase and wield a wand in the UK and all over the world, as granted by the International Confederation of Wizards. In exchange, the Gringotts clan, relinquished their monopoly on the production, distribution, and destruction of wizarding currency and allowed a capitalist take on the market to proceed. Since then, four different wizarding banks had opened up, and though Gringotts remained the largest and most profitable, the economy had never been more successful.

Shaking himself clear of nostalgia, Harry placed his wand to the rusty coin and murmdured, "Dumbledore's Army." Coughing briefly, he leaned back into his fluffy pillows and closed his eyes, waiting. Pop after pop signalled the arrival of the remainder of his friends and family.

"Is it time, Harry?" a trembling old voice croaked out, asking what everyone wanted to, yet too afraid to.

Taking a deep breath, Harry responded softly, "It is, Neville." Upon seeing tears and sobs start to emerge, he replied as strongly as he could, given his physical state, "Don't cry. Death is a natural part of life. As Albus Dumbledore once said, "Death is naught but the next Great Adventure," and I now understand what he meant.

"Grandpa..." a high-pitched, young sounding voice spoke up hesitantly.

Harry's eyes lit up upon hearing the voice of his youngest family member via generation and age; his great-granddaughter Ariana Gabrielle Potter.

"Ari, is that you my little pumpkin?" he exclaimed.

"Grandpa," Ariana began exasperatedly, "I'm not little anymore, I'm nine years old now, you know that!"

"Why yes, silly me, how could I forget? No matter, you'll always be my little pumpkin, Ari!"

"Grandpa, what happens when you die?"

Harry's expression turned wistful and at the same time pensive. He debated how to proceed with answering, eventually deciding on a mixture of truth and idealism.

"It is a liberating thing, Ari, but only if it is your time. Peace and tranquility come to you and you connect with your loved ones once more. There is no sense of time, nor awareness of surrounding. Everything is just what it is. It is almost like falling asleep and waking up immediately into the dream of your choice. That is what it means to greet Death like an old friend."

A barely audible snort filled the room, directing Harry's gaze over to Neville, who now stood with a nostalgic grimace upon his face.

The cold returning to his bones, Harry laid back upon his pillows, and sighed deeply, breathing out, "I've lived a good life. Be inspired by it and spread that goodness to the rest of the world. The world can use your brightness. It always can."

Lying back, Harry Potter, "The Boy-Who-Lived", closed his eyes for the final time as he departed this world to greet Death like an old friend, his last conscious thoughts of his family and surprisingly the Whomping Willow.

 **Perception**

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Dursley, there's nothing more we can do. The crash that killed your sister had injured your nephew's brain more than we thought. Although the surgery to repair his fractured skull was successful, it appears that some shrapnel from the Willow tree the car crashed into had lodged itself into an artery in his forehead, causing a blood clot to form which became an aneurysm and burst. As of right now, the only thing keeping him alive is the respirator, but as I told you last time we spoke, your insurance does not cover the costs enough and you and your husband's income will not suffice. Medically as well as in a monetary sense, my professional opinion is to pull the plug. I cannot imagine how tough this is on you. I can give you a few minutes if you want? Think it over?"

"No.. no.. its.. you're right," the aforementioned Mrs. Dursley choked out. Taking a deep breath, she carried on, "I can't bear to see him in pain like this anymore. It hurts too much. Pull the plug."

"I'll leave you a few minutes to say goodbye while I retrieve the paperwork for you to sign. Once again, I am sincerely sorry for your losses in this horrific tragedy."

"Thank you."

The doctor departed the room with a heavy sigh, a weight on his shoulders with every step. It didn't get easier, the doctor mused to himself as he entered his office to retrieve the paperwork. "Sad, really. Such a bright lad, his aunt claimed. Showed too. Acceptance into the coveted psychological program at the Hogwarts School of Psychology and Psychiatry at Oxford is no small feat. World could have used more lads like him."

 **Perception**

Mrs. Dursley didn't even turn her head as the doctor walked out of the room, instead staring dully at the listless green eyes of her nephew that lacked the spark of cognizance that had brightened her family's lives recently. Life was cruel and ironic, she mused to herself. The ideology that "Karma is a bitch" is woefully understated. Four days before the accident, she had told her sister, oh sweet Lily, that she was better off dead due to the negligence in consistent emotional support for son. Angelic Harry, off to become a psychiatrist and help people like Lily. "Like Lily," Mrs. Dursley choked out. Her sister, her gorgeous sister had always been a firecracker, but it wasn't until Uni that it became clear how bad it was. High-fluctuating form of bi-polar disorder, they said. Recommended institutionalization, they had said. It had progressively worsened with the birth of Harry and the onset of post-natal depression.

She ran a hand shakily through Harry's hair, tears brimming at her eyes. "Yes," she mused, "Life truly is cruel."

Turning around, Mrs. Dursley started walking towards the door, everything in her keeping herself from turning around. She paused at the door, and murmured, "Goodbye, my sweet Lion."

Without saying a word, she took the pen the doctor offered and the paperwork he returned with, and with a shaky flourish signed her name on the dotted line. "Petunia Hermione Ariana Evans-Dursley."

Softly, the doctor asked, "Should I contact the same funeral home your sister had her procession in?"

Mrs. Dursley mutely nodded her head, and walked off to the parking lot where her husband sat with her son, both trying to remain strong for her, yet coming to their own grips with the reality of what happened. "Rest in peace, Harry. You deserve it."


End file.
